


to freeze or thaw

by jonphaedrus



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Flirting, M/M, May/December Relationship, Pre-Slash, Screen Reader Friendly, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 23:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30029283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonphaedrus/pseuds/jonphaedrus
Summary: He will later curse himself as a fool for this, for even spread out their combined weight was sure to crack the ice of the frozen lake they are crossing in the depths of Garlean winter, and the one it breaks beneath is—Alphinaud goes down through the hole with a shout, catching himself sprawled on his elbows and one bent knee, scrabbling at the ice, yelping in pain at the chill of the water beneath the ice. His knee cracks the surface and he slips through a moment later, his blue eyes wide with terror before he goes under.
Relationships: Gaius van Baelsar/Alphinaud Leveilleur
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	to freeze or thaw

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from [in a week](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yDZnKWdvTUo) by hozier

He will later curse himself as a fool for this, for even spread out their combined weight was sure to crack the ice of the frozen lake they are crossing in the depths of Garlean winter, and the one it breaks beneath is—

Alphinaud goes down through the hole with a shout, catching himself sprawled on his elbows and one bent knee, scrabbling at the ice, yelping in pain at the chill of the water beneath the ice. His knee cracks the surface and he slips through a moment later, his blue eyes wide with terror before he goes under.

A moment later he resurfaces, and their lancer is already shoving her spear across. Alphinaud flails, grabs it, and she hauls him forth as quick as she can, until he lays gasping for breath, soaking wet all over.

“I’ll start a fire,” their thaumaturge says, and takes off running as quickly as he dares. Shadowhunter fumbles the Alphinaud’s bedroll from his back, free of its oilskin bag, and shakes it out, wrapping him in it as the lancer helps him tuck into it.

“I can walk,” Alphinaud insists, but it comes out chattering, shaking with every word. His jaw is so tight-grit that the tendons are visible beneath his skin, blue with cold. His eyelashes are frozen half-shut already with glittering frost, and he scrubs, trembling, at his lashes to free them.

“You can’t,” Shadowhunter replies, because they are on a frozen lake with breaking ice, in the midst of a raging blizzard with visibility less than ten fulms, in rural coastal Garlemald. Alphinaud glances up at him, face mutinous. “You’re capable, that’s certain, but the ice is breaking.” Alphinaud seems like to argue, but then sighs in acceptance.

He’s so cold that even through his bedroll Shadowhunter can feel Alphinaud’s shivering. “I’ll go pitch the tents,” his lancer says, taking off, and it leaves the two of them alone, making their way awkwardly across cracking ice to shore, Alphinaud too cold to speak, conserving all his heat and curled into a tiny ball, the only thing visible outside of his bedroll the top half of his face, knees tucked all the way up to his chin; Shadowhunter, out of breath in the biting cold, is not much for speaking.

When they reach shore, there’s a fire already burning, a tent half-struck, and he sets Alphinaud in the door. “The bedroll’s soaked,” Shadowhunter says, as Alphinaud crawls free of it, teeth chattering. He nods. There’s no point soaking the tent floor, too, and he tugs the flap barely shut, just enough open to cut the wind, kicks free of his clothes. His gloves are first, fumbled out, and Shadowhunter passes them all over to lay down in front of the fire on the ground barely scraped free of snow, followed by boots, tie, jacket, tunic and undershirt, then leggings and stockings.

Shadowhunter tries very hard to not look through the opening of the tent flap at Alphinaud's long legs, the white hair that stands out pale against his calves; dancer’s fine-boned ankles and pointed toes. He’s never seen more of Alphinaud’s skin than his hands bare to the forearm when he’s been healing, and now he cannot look away from the hollow beneath his fibula.

The last thing Alphinaud passes out is his smallclothes. A moment later, he says, voice strained with chill, “Please tell me there’s something I can wrap in.”

Shadowhunter shoves through a cloth to dry with, and then, a moment later, his own bedroll. It’s old, yes, but it’s army-make, padded, carbon-fiber and stuffed with polyfill and covered in a thick flannel outer shell. It is one of the few fine things he still owns, for he’s owned it for the better part of twenty years. “Dry off first,” he warns. “If that gets wet, it will be a sight harder to dry.” Alphinaud murmurs his thanks, and they finish staking the tent up, putting the additional weatherproofing over it to try and block the wind, for what little good it will do, setting the other tent in the lee, keeping the fire from guttering.

There’s little conversation as they make dinner, a thick, hearty stew supplemented by some of the tea that Alphinaud purchased when last they were at an outpost, which Alphinaud takes through the door of the tent with more murmured thanks. As they eat, the blizzard gets worse until it’s all but howling, and there’s no option but to drag Alphinaud’s sopping clothes into the tent, and turn in.

Shadowhunter has been sharing his tent with Alphinaud for the better part of two months, but it has been at a relative distance. They have kept to their own bedrolls, but that’s not quite an option here, now. Indeed, as he finishes unrolling the waterproofing and zipping the flap shut, turns back, he finds Alphinaud curled up in a ball within his bedroll, having wrapped himself in it twice and sunk in to his cheekbones. Alphinaud is leaning on his knees, forearms folded, and his hair is loose.

He’s never seen it loose.

It’s _everywhere_ , a frizzy, curly mess, mostly dry now, spilling white over the dark flannel of the bedroll like a halo. He quirks his mouth in a half-smile at Shadowhunter, looking tired and still pale with cold, his lips purple. Alphinaud’s hair is longer than he had previously thought, fine and silver in the flat light coming in from outside. “My apologies,” Alphinaud says, enunciating carefully past his shivvers. “I seem to have stolen your bed.”

There’s not enough room to move about properly in the tent, so he just elects to pull his boots off, setting  _Heirsbane_ aside beside Alphinaud’s bedroll, bundled up. They’ll have to figure out some way to dry it without it mildewing; perhaps there’s some spell in thaumaturgy. “You’ve more need of it than me,” he replies, sighing, crossing his legs as Alphinaud shifts to the side to make room. “ Garlemald’s winters are not new to me ,” he reminds the other man.

Yes, there’s a blizzard outside. He’ll keep.

Alphinaud, on the other hand, is still shaking with cold,  and Shadowhunter barely hesitates before shrugging out of his coat, tossing it over the other man's’s back. “Better?” He asks, crossing his arms to conserve his own body heat until the tent warms up.

“A little,” Alphinaud admits.

They sit in silence, Alphinaud watching as Shadowhunter first does the care on the leather of his boots, upkeep that lets him keep wearing them long past when they should have worn to shreds, then turns to  _Heirsbane_ .  By the time he’s picking through the gears, his hands are nearly numb and he’s shaking slightly, but it’s fine.

“This is ridiculous,” Alphinaud’s voice breaks him from his focus, and he glances up too-quick, his neck cricking. Alphinaud is shrugging the coat off. “You’re shaking.”

“It’s nothing,” he lies. Alphinaud raises both his eyebrows.

“I’m freezing, _you_ are shaking in the cold, this bedroll has room enough for the both of us and we’re certainly going nowhere; that will keep.” Alphinaud lifts the side of it. He should not do this. “This is _not_ my first time sharing body heat, I assure you. Please, it’s better for the both of us.”

“Are you still damp?” Alphinaud looks chagrined

“I am fine, the bedroll is a bit.” Shadowhunter sighs, and starts undressing. If his things get wet, they’ll be in a right mess; Alphinaud has replacements for some of his clothes, but he has nothing. Bandages and glove first, then his belt and packs and vest, shirt, trousers, stockings, undershirt; he’s left in his smallclothes. 

It’s fucking cold as hell.

He gets in the bedroll. Which is  _much warmer_ . Alphinaud, though, yelps, shifting away from him and balling up. “Gods, you’re like  _ice_ .”

“It’s _cold_.” Alphinaud stares, distrustingly, at approximately where his leg is, as if it’s about to explode. Slowly, he eases out of the tiny ball he’s made of himself, stretching out so that they’re side-by-side. Their knees bump soon enough, and Alphinaud is warm, despite all the chill that has clearly left him shaken.

“For all the time I spent in Coerthas, I must admit, this is my first time nearly freezing to death.” Alphinaud huffs a laugh. They’re still not quite touching, but it is warmer already. He keeps his left arm, pained as ever, curled to his chest, finally lands on his back. “Estinien and I shared body heat for I am always so cold, but never did I fall through ice.”

“Was good luck alone that let us be close enough to rescue you.” Alphinaud laughs, pushing closer. He’s no longer shaking, which is reassuring. He rolls over to sit up on his elbows, look down at Shadowhunter. His hair is all a mess now, thrown completely awry, and there’s a sweetness to him that’s almost agonizing. “Are you well?”

“Well enough,” Alphinaud agrees. He puts his chin on his hand. “And yourself?”

“It is warmer,” he admits, and Alphinaud smiles.


End file.
